


xxvii; Trembling in the Dark

by Theo_Thaur



Series: 31 Days of TUA Whump [27]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Angst, Gen, Klaus Hargreeves Has PTSD, Klaus Hargreeves-centric, One Shot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Canon, Veteran Klaus Hargreeves, Whumptober 2020, let's not discuss that, this title just makes me think of 'dancing by myself'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:15:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27288514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theo_Thaur/pseuds/Theo_Thaur
Summary: Whumptober 2020 submission. No 27. "OK, WHO HAD NATURAL DISASTERS ON THEIR 2020 BINGO CARD?": Earthquake, Extreme Weather, Power Outage.-----While living in San Francisco before the eventual drive to 1963 Dallas, Klaus experiences his first earthquake. The tremors serve as a reminder of everything he's lost and everything that hurts.
Relationships: Ben Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves
Series: 31 Days of TUA Whump [27]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1951234
Kudos: 8
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	xxvii; Trembling in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGERS: PTSD, Vietnam War/conflict, death, violence/gore, panic attacks.

_xxvii; Trembling in the Dark_

_"You're my greatest disappointment, Number Four. You only scratched the surface of what you were truly capable of. If only you'd focused. No, instead, you pump yourself full of poison because you're afraid. Afraid of what? The dark?"_

"Klaus. Wake up. You're going to visit the cult today," Ben said, words that did technically get through to Klaus, though a rude awakening. "Klaus," Ben tried again, raising his voice, "you need to--" in a fit of energy surprising for it being so early to Klaus, he took a small pillow from the bed he was sleeping in and chucked it at Ben. What? They were called _throw_ pillows for a reason. Obviously it went right through him, but was enough to interrupt Ben and that annoying big boy voice he used sometimes. "Very mature," oh, Klaus practically _heard_ the eye roll. 

"Don't be a baby. They're not a cult, 'n for a dead guy you could be more…" Klaus struggled for a word, "more _optimistic_ ," he finished, muttering against his pillow.

"I hate you, you know that?" Ben asked, probably not expecting an answer, which was fine. Klaus pulled the covers up against himself, nestling --best sheets money could buy, that was for sure. Ben stepped closer, putting a hand near Klaus' face, which he didn't notice because his eyes had already closed. Ben yanked the pillow away from Klaus in a fluid motion, although Klaus still felt it as it dragged away from his head. He opened his eyes finally, once his head fell level with the mattress, and saw Ben throw the pillow onto the floor. 

"You're a royal douchebag," Klaus moaned, rolling onto his back, brushing away hair from his face. It had gotten longer but he sort of liked it, it was fun and swishy and with some money he could afford to keep it nice instead of hacking it off with scissors. "Why do you care?" he complained, finally acknowledging he wouldn't be able to sleep, as a combination of not having a pillow and hearing Ben blabber. Klaus sat up in bed, crossing his legs and remaining firmly planted. "Last time I checked you're not my little ghost secretary."

"I think my death stopped being a noteworthy topic of conversation at least ten years ago," Ben said, looking annoyed but not really hurt, since he'd come to expect it.

"Yeah and I think my dick stopped being a," Klaus yawned, "noteworthy place to sit and yet you won't get off it." Ben looked around the room a little, not saying anything. "I mean get off my dick," he clarified with a sigh, but the joke had stopped being funny.

"I got that. I was just… thinking," came the answer. Klaus raised his eyebrows, hunching a little to prop his head on his hand curiously.

"What about, pumpkin?" Klaus asked, which made Ben go all huffy.

"Nothing. ...It's not even morning, which you'd know if you opened the curtains," Ben said, moving over to the curtains and staring at them a moment to build up enough focus, before tugging them open. Klaus still instinctively put a hand over his eyes, but Ben was right.

"I liked you better when you had less bodily autonomy," he complained, not because the skies were bright but because he was still sour about having his pillow pulled out from under his head. Klaus got up, not because he wanted to but because he figured if he dropped in, maybe Ben would calm down, and maybe he could grab some snacks while he was there.

Ben ignored him, "you promised you'd go to one of their stupid celebrations you wrote about. One of the 'Spice Girls' holidays." Klaus forgot about half the events he'd proposed, but unfortunately had not conveniently forgotten about his promise.

"For the record, 'Wannabe' teaches some very important life lessons. I felt like they should commune to celebrate the day it will… _eventually_ release," he replied. Klaus got out of bed and looked through his drawers for something to wear, deciding he wouldn't bother with anything special, not for that group.

"I don't have time for this. Bottom line, you missed it? I'm sure they wanted to see you," Ben said.

"Why do you suddenly have a hard-on for Destiny's Children? And more importantly, are you thinking I should go for checkered shorts, or striped pants?" Klaus held the two up.

"They're people, Klaus. People. Not everyone that you tricked into joining is boring or--"

"You could at least answer the question…" Klaus pouted. Striped pants it was. He slipped them on, before consulting his appearance in his bedroom mirror, which was tall and just above the dresser.

" _That's_ what you're concerned about?" Ben asked, exasperated. Before Klaus could defend himself, the ground began to shake beneath his feet. 

Klaus looked into his reflection in the mirror, which wobbled and distorted where his face was, relative to the rest of the room. He watched as blurry, formerly tired eyes sharpened up in the wobbly mirror, widening, growing more terrified. He felt something slam against the side of his body, and seen out of the corner of his eye, in the mirror, a shadow had swarming over. Klaus broke his own fall, wedging his elbow between the carpet and his head. Ben was all heavy and awkward on him, having shoved him to the ground and left a pain in his side, but Ben quickly stood. 

Klaus blinked, looking around on the floor, feeling small and helpless and increasingly connected to the tremors, somehow all the more unable to move. The mirror finally dropped from the wall, shattering against the drawers in shards that caught shivers of the lights of night. A piece of the mirror slipped from the lip of the drawers, as those too shook, and it bit into Klaus' ankle. He tugged his legs close into himself, the slicing of his skin having been enough to ground him and cause him to act. Klaus pressed his head against the shag carpet, breathing hard and feeling the strain on his back and neck as a result of pulling himself so tight. He breathed heavily, feeling suffocated with his stomach and knees against each other, and the shag not far from his nose and mouth. The window cracked open behind him, glass biting into the curtain, and joining the rising cacophony of noise near and far. Drawers slid open, a few falling out entirely onto the floor. Tiles fell from the ceiling, his nightstand tipped over, and the whole home shook with tremors loud in his ears.

Nothing could've prepared him for how the ground rolled and jolted, how something entirely solid rocked him back and forth on strong planks. The feeling of catastrophe was immense, literally his world was falling down around him and there wasn't anything he could do. Was there a risk of a tsunami where he lived in San Francisco? His bedroom was on the second floor, what if the house collapsed? Delicately shaded lamps clattered onto the ground, and Klaus was certain his dresser wasn't far from that either. He tried to fight it, squirming away from the heavy chest of drawers, on floor that writhed underneath him like it wanted to buck him off. The lights flickered a few times, before it went dark. Beginning to build up a sweat, Klaus tried to remember where he was, that it was all okay. But the anxious feelings generated by the tremors evolved, taking a new shape. The jolts of the floor reminded him of the recoil of a machine gun, his skin hot and itchy and tingly because it was June and because he curled so tightly into himself. His body heat clustered up, making him feel trapped. The shaking stopped at some point, a storm crackling in the sky, as rain beat down through the open window, soaking into carpet. He covered his ears with his hands, as rain drummed out, unsheltered and loud like Vietnam's storms. 

At some point he stopped being a cult leader sheltering during an earthquake, but a soldier in Vietnam, with humid air and a back that ached no matter how hard he tried to cope with the pain. The foxhole was only so big, or the barrier only so tall. He had to be small if he wanted to brave through it, if he wanted to avoid ending up cold and left behind in the mud. 

"Klaus. Klaus," a voice called out to him.

He shuttered, only cupping his hands tighter over his ears, but all he saw were ghosts. Nightmares mixed together, ditches and malaria siding with bony fingers and cracked lips. He saw the death of soldiers in vivid details, bodies old and new, he saw tortured souls that screamed for help or died just trying to keep up a barrage of fire. The two dovetailed in ways that didn't seem fair, the smell of death in a tight stone catacomb mixed with mildew and wet dirt and rot. Storms echoed out and the dead reached towards him screaming, it was cold like marble and hot like summer all over and all at once. His head hurt and his chest ached and he wanted to be somewhere else, somewhere that blood and death couldn't follow him like a stain, but it just kept finding him and getting worse. 

Lightning cracked, and Klaus jumped, the gash at his ankle still painful, but he didn't think he could get up, even as the earth beneath him had stopped moving. He kept himself small and safe, curled up like in the catacombs as a child, or in the Vietnam conflict as a soldier and a whisper of a person. He'd stay, reduced to almost nothing, forever if he had to. The world was dangerous and large and too much, even when he shut it out in every way possible it just crept back in. It would always win. He was beginning to think he didn't belong anywhere. Not twenty-nineteen, with veteran's bars that didn't accept him and family that didn't particularly care what he wasted his life on --not that Klaus faulted them for that. But how was he supposed to step foot in the sixties? The earthquake wasn't specific to the time, but Klaus was kidding himself if he claimed to not come into contact with triggers frequently, and lying if he said avoidance hadn't played a part in shaping a reclusive anti-war group that picked flowers and played gentle music. Say he left California, where would he go? Every problem was the same, every problem could follow him.

It wasn't fair that faces from Vietnam blended into those of his childhood, that flashes of sickly skin could remind him of the way a machete or dog tags glinted when the light was perfect. It wasn't fair that when he opened his eyes, and saw nothing but black. He thought of that echo chamber the ghouls had found him in as a child, that scary black space in between his world and theirs, but also thought of black ink that had declared the date on a Stars and Stripes newspaper.

Klaus had never been scared of the dark. He wasn't scared of being left alone in a dark room, it had never been about that. The darkness wasn't scary, it was the monsters that could lurk within the darkness that he'd always been so afraid of. Reginald had never understood that.

**Author's Note:**

> The beginning quote is from S1:E7 "The Day That Was."


End file.
